


Chocolate cake

by Baryshnikov



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Asexual Tom, Hand Feeding, I had the most ridiculously decadent chocolate cake and thought of Abraxas Malfoy, Its weirder than it sounds, M/M, chocolate cake, rich people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-10 01:39:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15280755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baryshnikov/pseuds/Baryshnikov
Summary: Tom knew Abraxas was petty, but this really just takes the cake.





	Chocolate cake

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Pomegranate Seeds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13493840) by [BirdBlue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BirdBlue/pseuds/BirdBlue). 



> Abraxas is exactly the type of person who would eat a ridiculously expensive chocolate cake as sensuously as possible, just to spite someone (in this case Tom).

Tom wasn’t entirely sure how Abraxas had convinced him that this was a good idea. Tom hated picnics, they were a waste of time, energy and, when the Malfoys were involved, money. But apparently Abraxas liked picnics, and Abraxas liked Tom, so Tom was going on a picnic.  
The day was overcast, and the strong perfume of pollen suggested it would rain later. None of this bothered Abraxas though. He led Tom to an apple tree, the pink blossom pooled on the ground making the sky seem darker.  
Abraxas didn’t bother with a rug, only several elaborately decorated cushions that had been conveniently carried over by a house elf. He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and dismissed the house elf in his ‘authoritative voice’. It sounded stupid.  
Once they were alone, the apple tree offering little shelter from the crisp wind, Abraxas lay down, stretching his long elegant limbs in a way Tom supposed was appealing to the witches he fooled around with. He grinned at Tom, “aren’t you going to sit?”  
Tom glared but sat down near Abraxas feet.  
“For Merlin’s sake Tom, I can barely see you, how am I supposed to hear you if you sit that far away?”  
Tom rolled his eyes and moved closer. He mimicked Abraxas’ grin before returning to his usual glare which, if his prayers were ever answered, would one day painfully wound Abraxas. Abraxas’ grin grew wider.  
“You can pretend not to like it if that makes you feel better,” said Abraxas not waiting for a reply. He reached into a basket and brought out what he constituted as a picnic, which, Tom decided, was not what a picnic meant to everyone else.  
The only thing Abraxas had brought was a bottle of port, which probably looked better than it tasted, and a cake. A black forest cake to be precise. One so elaborately decorated Tom would have thought it was for something more dramatic than a mundane Thursday.  
“Is this for the other day?” said Tom, still looking at the cake.  
“I don’t know, Tom. Is it?” said Abraxas, watching Tom intently, a small smirk emerging on his lips, despite his best efforts.  
“Bastard,” said Tom meaning every syllable. Three days ago, he’d told Abraxas dessert was not an appropriate main meal. Mrs Malfoy had agreed, and they’d had something Tom had spent the last three days learning to pronounce, Abraxas had not been amused.  
Now he was very amused, smiling smugly, looking slightly too pleased with himself.  
“Do you want a slice?”  
“No.”  
“Fine by me,” said Abraxas cutting his own slice.  
The cake itself with three layers of chocolate cake, between each, were layers of white cream and dark gleaming cherries, each dripping in a sticky sweet cherry jam. The red of the cherries oozed onto the cream like blood on a white shirt. It was as beautiful as it was disgustingly decadent.  
Abraxas smirked as he took a chunk of the cake with his fingers and placed it on his tongue. He had the decency to swallow before he spoke.  
“Sure you don’t want any?”  
Tom shook his head and watched, mesmerised. It was hypnotising watching Abraxas eat: the way he curled his lips around the gooey chocolate, the way his pink tongue licked his lips, the way a red streak of jam trickled down his chin. A part of Tom wanted to wipe it away with his tongue, just to see Abraxas’ reaction.  
He looked so decadent, depraved, debased as he licked the cream off his fingers; each one taken deep and swirled with that pink tongue. With his thumb Abraxas smeared the jam across his chin in an attempt to wipe it away, he sucked his thumb clean.  
It was sickening, it was erotic. Abraxas lying there eating his chocolate cake, knowing full well he could do anything he pleased, and no one would ever tell him ‘no’.  
Abraxas cut himself another piece, “Take a bite, Tom.”  
There was something so needy about Abraxas, so desperate to share his world. Tom knew loneliness, it had been his only friend. To Abraxas though, loneliness was an endless tunnel, a timeless vortex which would suck him in and consume him; so, Abraxas wanted to share, so badly wanted someone to share eternal summers with. So badly wanted someone, he’d chosen Tom, the only one who probably hadn’t been interested.  
Tom didn’t know why he took a lump of cake and ate it in a perfect imitation of Abraxas. He made every movement whether it was his tongue or lips or fingers as sensual as possible. He licked his fingers just as deep and just as thoroughly as Abraxas and watched as Abraxas slowly forgot what he was here for.  
Abraxas stared, mouth open, cake forgotten. He was captivated by Tom and Tom loved it: loved that every move he made was mouth-watering. Perhaps it was just the satisfaction of knowing he was more delicious than Abraxas’ precious cake, but whatever it was, it was intoxicating. Tom could live forever on the look of absolute want that Abraxas was giving him, that speechless awe of someone who knows they stand before unadulterated perfection, God’s faultless design.  
“The cake isn’t that bad, I suppose,” said Tom, still not taking his eyes off Abraxas’.  
“You want any more?” said Abraxas in a feeble little whisper.  
“No, but you must? I can help if you want.”  
Tom edged towards Abraxas. He straddled his hips and smirked, “I thought you liked it, Abraxas?”  
Abraxas swallowed and sub-consciously chewed his lip. There was something in his eyes Tom had seen before, something raw and primal, filled with longing for things Abraxas couldn’t have.  
Tom held a small chunk of cake to Abraxas’ lips. The latter opened his mouth, he swallowed the cake and kissed Tom’s fingers. Tom passed him another piece and Abraxas sucked the cream and caramel off his fingers.  
His mouth was warm and wet, his lips cracked and dry; rough and soft against his fingers. Tom wondered what it would be like to kiss them, he’d never kissed anyone’s lips before. They looked somehow soft and defenceless, exposing everything Abraxas wanted.  
Tom kissed him.  
Abraxas tasted sticky sweet, like chocolate and cherries. His lips were softer than they looked and kissing them felt nice, felt satisfyingly dishonest, like tasting the forbidden fruit. Abraxas didn’t seem to care, his kisses were hot and sloppy, aching for something, anything to momentarily sate the gnawing desire that was devouring him. He’d kissed so many people, but Tom still felt special. He’d seen Abraxas kiss people, it was never like this, never so open, so vulnerable.  
His fingers knotted through Tom’s hair, brushing the pink petals aside and he moaned when Tom abandoned his mouth.  
From observation Tom knew Abraxas’ neck was sensitive, so he bit it, and licked it, and sucked it, and kissed it, disregarding courtesy by leaving a pretty pattern of dark pink bruises people would pretend not to notice.  
Abraxas whined his back arching, shaking hands clinging weakly to Tom’s shirt. Sweet little pleads left his lips, begging for kisses and begging for kisses to stop, desperate for them to go forward to whatever nirvana Abraxas’ had imagined, and desperate for them to return to where they were, what they knew, the familiarity of friendship that was lost between hot groans and meagre whimpers.  
But Tom wasn’t going back, even when it began to drizzle, the cold spring rain making his fingers tremble; he’d started down a path that could never be returned, and Abraxas could be made to see things his way, perhaps he was already starting to, after all the rain ruined the cake, proving to Tom that he still hated picnics.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really not sure what this is, but I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
